“There’s a park coming up on the left, just before the bridge. Let’s go check it out.” Just in time, he sees the turn I mean and swings the car around. We bump down the gravel drive toward the water. The parking lot is empty except for a park ranger’s truck. I groan inwardly. I guess we aren’t going to fuck in the car.

We get out and casually walk down the beach, arm in arm. There are maybe a dozen small boats at anchor along this stretch, but I don’t see anyone on board. My feet shift and slide on the rocks. The air smells of sea and rain. We’ve just missed a spring downpour. As we continue down the shore, around a bend to a place where trees grow out over the water, the sounds of traffic on the bridge fade into the background.

Now out of sight of the parking lot, we stop and kiss. A warm tingly feeling starts at the soles of my feet and rises up, filling my body with golden desire. We pull each other closer. I am deeply rooted in the moment, no longer aware of the cold or our surroundings. Love fills me until I feel that my chest can no longer contain the heat of my desire. I open to him, send my energy to flow into him with my breath. He gasps with the pleasure of it and I know that he feels me.

For a moment I transcend my body, this beach, everything. My consciousness soars and I am a part of all things. He brings me back with his passionate hands roaming my body. I pull away to see his eyes. I want to make love with him. Immediately.

“Let’s go check out that cool tree!” I say, imagining how awesome it would be to have sex on the broad trunk that slopes out 10 feet over the beach. The tree is amazing, but I suddenly feel too exposed. I scan the area for just the right place. There, up the hill a bit.

We climb an impromptu creek bed, rain water running back to the Sound. The fresh scent of the soil squishing under our feet turns me on even more. Part of me feels primal. Part of me is giggling over being transgressive.

We reach the spot I’d picked. We have a great view of the Hood Canal Bridge in it’s entirety, but no one will spot us. Anyone on the boats could see us, but probably won’t. Ditto for park goers. It has just the right balance of public and private to get my juices flowing.

We aren’t sure what to do next. We kiss and feel each other up with growing intensity. I straddle a mossy log and lay back, letting him undo my pants and pull them down to below my knees. He presses his face between my thighs while I contort and hang on with all I’m worth. The colloquial saying about something being as easy as falling off a log runs through my head, but it feels fantastic.

I really want to fuck! I convince him to stop and let me suck his cock. We usually take more time than this, but I am excited. I want him to fuck me from behind. We try it one way while straddling the log, pants pulled down. Then the other, hoping that the angle would be better. Finally I order him to lie on the forest floor and I squat over him.

I easily return to that sensation of being both extremely present and one with everything. I open myself to the world all around us, yet we are alone together in a bubble of our love. Every time I slide up and down the length of his cock, waves of pleasure ripple through my body. The sensations build. I feel my orgasm approaching and I move faster. His face contorts and I can tell he is also near. I draw the moment out, savoring that blissful anticipation, before giving myself over.

His cries ring out over the water as he finds release. I laugh until the muscles in my cunt push him out. I love him so much. I love him like this, on his back in the moss and ferns, by the water, his pants down around his knees. I feel happy and alive. We have so much fun together.

We dust off the dirt and leaves. We find a safer way down the hill to the rocky beach. We kiss and hold hands and look for interesting rocks. Back at the car we notice that the ranger’s truck is gone. We gaze into each other’s eyes, reliving that moment in the woods. We didn’t even get caught this time.

Happiness is being in the middle of a naked snuggle pile. I could see us reflected in the glass ceiling of the solarium: Harold and Woody both curled around me, our legs entwined, hands still roaming each other’s bodies. We made a beautiful tableau. After more orgasms than I can remember, I was feeling diffuse and abundant love. They were taking advantage of the lull in the action to geek out together over cool higher math.

My body was saturated with sensation. I was hyper aware of every touch, the unique scent of their skin, the warmth of our bodies together, the blues songs that filled the room and became part of the fabric of our existence, the taste of ginger beer spicy on my tongue and in their kisses, and the sunlight blessing us all. I could close my eyes and feel myself sustained by their strength, nourished by their love, safe in their arms. Not only do these men bring me great pleasure, they also make me relax and live in the moment.

Those moments were pretty incredible. I adored having all the extra stimulation. Being able to make out while someone goes down on me or having a cock in each hand is satisfying. It’s surprisingly challenging to give two hand jobs at once, especially since they each prefer a different style and rhythm. They had the audacity to suggest that I was doing it wrong, but I think it was just an excuse to spend time going down on each other.

It was hot to watch them, two mostly straight guys who have come into their own sexual power in their 60’s. They were passionate with each other. They performed fellatio with a hunger, like they’ve spent their whole lives thinking about what they would do if they ever got a chance. It obviously felt good. When receiving, they each groaned with head thrown back and body arched. I felt a momentary twinge of jealousy to be excluded from this ardent display, but watching them was so primal that I felt connected anyway.

The three of us are so full of love for each other. We respect each other and we feel comfortable being vulnerable. Each of us could ask for the things that we specifically enjoy and wanted. It was okay to laugh and cry and discuss Euler’s identity. I’ve been fucking geeks for most of my life and never realized how sexy logarithms could be, but it certainly worked for Harold and Woody.

It’s amazing how many different ways in which three people can combine. It takes a little bit more work than two people, but we are creative. The advantage to making love with older men is that they take their time. We can have sex for hours and it focuses more on my pleasure. The disadvantage of older men is that I have yet to make them both hard enough at the same time for double penetration or other such hijinks, but I think we’ll get there eventually.

It was a lovely afternoon, from eating sushi with our fingers and catching up to a wild tangle of mouths and limbs – from sensual overload to furious fucking ­– from soaking in the hot tub to dinner and a movie with the family – from Euler to Richard Feynman to Gregory Chaitin. Threesomes have a certain caché, but the time we’ve spent together isn’t like that. We aren’t just there to fuck. We are friends. I have incredible sex with each of them separately. Together we create a function of complex variables that has an amazing integral.

There are some really great things about being polyamorous. One of them was coming home around one in the morning (wearing only knee high boots and bondage cuffs) and having my partner, Joel, only cock an eyebrow and ask if I had a good time.

I had a fabulous time with DW! When I showed up at his door the kissing was passionate and intense. It lead to me, on my knees, appreciating the finer points of button-fly Levis. And then to DW buckling handcrafted black leather cuffs around my wrists. It made me very happy.

We went to a party full of poly folk. I realized how odd and awesome it is to not know who people are in relationships with. It’s different than most social situations where everyone is seen as part of a package. In fact, it felt strange for me to be at a party without one of my primary partners.

That didn’t stop me from ditching my clothes as soon as possible. I joined a cuddle pile. DW tied me up in beautiful ways and did things that made me come. I got the spanking I asked for, with people passing by the room. Have I mentioned that I like to kiss this man? When it was time to go, DW shook his head when I picked up my clothes, handing me his leather jacket instead. It felt deliciously deviant to go home that way!

In my fantasy you show up at my hotel room, sweeping me off my feet with your suave and dapper style, but it’s Daddy’s hand on my backside that makes me melt. I can’t stop kissing you. I want you in my mouth. Oh Kyle, we only have a few hours. Whatever will we do?

When I look in the mirror I am usually pretty happy with what I see. I like my body, my hair, my face – but sometimes I get frustrated when what I see doesn’t fit with how I feel inside. I like being female, but there are times when I feel very male. I struggle with how to present myself as a male. How do I express who I am as a man?

I recently fulfilled a long time fantasy to dress as the man I see myself as and it was really pretty much a perfect evening. I had so much fun! My friends got married and held a masquerade ball. (Congrats guys!) The invitations said, “dress to impress” and I immediately thought about wearing a tuxedo. I’ve always wanted to wear a tux. It seems the epitome of men’s fashion, suave and debonair. What could be sexier?

I fetishize tuxedos to such an extent that just picking up the tux gave me a high like participating in a BDSM scene for a couple of hours. I went to the Tuxedo Club in Kirkland and they were amazing. I had a lot of anxiety going in because I worried that it wouldn’t be right. I was there for over an hour while they explained each piece. I love the details – cufflinks, spats, pocket watches and such. They worked with me to make sure that I had exactly what I wanted in a tuxedo. I left feeling exhilarated.

I wanted the perfect date for this wedding reception, so I invited DW. I got dressed at his house and he was full of useful information, like tips on how to better use a compression vest to bind my breasts. (“Pull together and you’ve got cleavage, pull up and out toward the armpits and you’ve got pecs.”) I am so grateful to DW for all of his graceful instruction and sense of humor. He also looks damn hot in a tux.

We had fun at the party. I saw people I hadn’t seen in years, and a few of them didn’t recognize me! I felt amazing: strong, sexy, grounded. DW and I got increasingly friskier, groping each other surreptitiously while everyone focused on the bride and groom cutting the cake. It felt good when his fingers brushed against my clit, but I kept wishing that I had decided to pack so he could feel my cock.

We left while the night was still young. We stopped at a grocery store because DW insisted on getting me food I could eat, something that earns him a hundred gold stars in my book. Walking through the store in a tux made the experience real. I was not just going to a costume party, I was in public. It was awesome. I want to own a tux so I can put it on to run to the grocery store. (After 5:00 p.m. of course, as DW pointed out.)

Once we had taken off the tuxedos and I had eaten, we retired to the bedroom. DW has a perfect way about him. I feel comfortable and I trust him, which makes it possible (just barely) for me to submit to him. He brings me right up to the point where I would have to stop.I find myself sitting in uncomfortable places that I would not normally tolerate with anyone else. And then I feel amazing afterward. This man has incredible skill.

He called me “boy” the entire time. I dropped to my knees in front of him. He urged me to take his cock deeper and deeper into my throat, slapping my face when I didn’t try hard enough. I gagged and tears ran down my face, but I eventually found my rhythm.

He wrapped his fingers in my hair and dragged me to the bed. He bent me over the edge and bit my back while I squirmed in protest. He was gone briefly then came back with what I think was a belt. He used it to encourage me to use proper responses to his attentions. It sounded like this: “SMACK. (breath, breath, moan…) Yes Daddy! SMACK. (sucked in breath, exhale) Yes Daddy!” Between the belt and his hand I started to get the hang of it.

Our play got gentler after that. I did more cock sucking. We snuggled. I orgasmed. He is a fabulous kisser. He wove incredible fantasies for me. He rolled me over and fucked me hard, like I had been wanting in a desperate kind of way. I also wanted him to come all over me, so he straddled my hips. We took turns with lube and his cock. He talked dirty to me (cuz I’m a dirty boy). I played with his nipples and really felt like a boy. I could feel my cock and I wanted him to sit on it. I wanted to fuck him with my cock while he spilled on my chest. It was toe-curling, back-arching, super-hot fucking.

I had so much fun. I’m still on that high a couple of days later. It’s interesting to me that none of the (sometimes crippling) anxiety I feel in social situations plagued me at the reception. Perhaps it is the power of the tuxedo. Maybe I feel more confident as a boy. Could be that DW puts me at ease. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.

I’ve felt great all weekend. I put on the tux again to take some photos with Harold, this time with me on top. Those images turn me on so much. Like crazy horny. I’ve never had that experience with photos of myself before! I don’t even know what to make of it. Renting a tux has been more than a costume for a party, more than cross-dressing, and more than a fetish. It’s been a dream come true.

Harold and Melanie are having a date right now. It’s making me feel all warm and tingly thinking about them finding pleasure in each other. Their love for each other is a beautiful thing and makes the whole family happier. I adore Harold, so I want him to enjoy himself. I feel compersion – joy and expansiveness in my partner’s pleasure with others.

In fact, today I did my best to gift wrap Harold for Melanie’s enjoyment. From the time I woke up this morning, until he left for their date, I kept him turned on. We both knew he mustn’t orgasm, but everything else was fair game. We avoided penis-in-vagina penetration because neither of us has that much willpower. Other than that, I was ruthless. I know Harold’s body so well. I can keep him pretty close to the edge without going over.

We just flowed together from the moment I stretched myself awake and demanded that he scratch my back. We kissed, hard and wild, soft and sensuous, deep and demanding. I let him go down on me until I couldn’t stand it. I came for him with his fingers curled inside me. I taunted him with my body until he took his pants off. His balls suffered my brutal attentions. I squeezed, stroked, and slapped his hard cock.

Although I had no intention of actually letting him fuck me, I slipped into guy mode, turning the tables with every lame-ass wheedling plea I have ever heard: “Come on, I know a slut like you wants to,” and “You don’t want my balls to get blue, do you? You don’t want to hurt me,” and “Stop being such a tease.” It felt empowering to role-play with those ridiculous lines. We almost couldn’t resist!

Even though we were laughing and thoroughly enjoying ourselves, we both could feel when we needed to stop. There is a place where the energy shifts and frustration takes over, turning desire into something uncomfortable. We went to make breakfast, but we kept some low-level tension going – mostly caresses and kissing, innuendo and eye contact.

I picked it up again later, taking advantage of him helping me to bleach my hair by sliding a couple of lubed fingers into his asshole. I might have followed up with some lube on his penis. Poor boy. But I didn’t get into the shower with him. Again, we don’t have infinite willpower! I’m glad that I can orgasm as much as I want.

Delayed gratification can be so good. I don’t even care that he isn’t going to be fucking me! I imagine him like a wind up toy that I have spun up and sent in Melanie’s direction. I can’t wait to hear about how it goes!

I had a date with the most wonderful man. I’m full of glowing excitement – equal parts desire, contentment, and anticipation. He seems to understand perfectly how to seduce me, or at least he is content to let our relationship unfold as it will. I spent days looking forward to our date and I have spent days savoring the memory. Yes, it was that good.

I like that we made decisions about our date together, but it was obvious that Woody got a lot of enjoyment out of my pleasure. I think that this is always a good sign in a potential lover. It’s also true that when I am happy, I spill joy out over everyone around me. We both had a good time.

I’ve been getting to know Woody for a few months, but this was our first time spent alone together. I appreciate that he has let me go at my own speed. We sent many emails back and forth before we met. I had to cancel our first meeting because of a family emergency and he quite understood. He’s been supportive of my recent struggles with thyroid problems, sending me reading materials and reassuring messages.

Harold and I went together to meet Woody in person the first time, which cut down on my anxiety over meeting people who found me on the Internet. They even hit it off, talking so much that I sometimes felt excluded. Woody and his wife had my family over for dinner and it was totally awesome. People who genuinely like my kids get super bonus points. It was a really fantastic evening.

The thing that is really working for me here, is that I feel accepted for who I am in the context of my life as it is now. Woody listens and he also shares about himself openly and honestly. I know about his other lovers, and I assume I will probably meet them at some point. I think he is building a community of brilliantly sexy people and I find that (and him) appealing. This is how I believe polyamory should work.

We shared a date, which rates as one of my best ever. We both love blues music, so we listened to some in the car. We are also both extremely sensuous, so sharing good food over brunch was basically when we started to make love. I adore that he noticed my fondness for all things bubbly and made sure we factored mimosas into our plans.

We held hands during the vampire movie I waited months to see, a warm champagne buzz releasing any lingering tension from my week, erotic energy building in the connections between our fingers as we sat in the dark. I left the theater feeling changed somehow. Big raindrops kissed my skin and released an earthy scent from the dry pavement. The drive home seemed too short.

I invited Woody in when he brought me home. I asked him up to my room to see my art. No, really, my art for SEAF was hanging on the wall! As I got my courage up to sign my artwork, I kissed him for luck. It became a very passionate kiss. A very probing tongues, groping hands kind of kiss. A kiss that penetrated my center and left my cunt wet and his cock hard under his jeans. A good kiss.

I had one of those moments where I had to use a brain fogged with lust to make a decision about what to do next. While I was enjoying our interaction, I knew my teen was downstairs and that it might be weird for her. I think because I was enjoying myself so much, I wanted to wait before going further. I like to draw things out. I like the anticipation. Lusting after someone is fun. My imagination is my greatest sex organ, right? We have time. So I showed him to the door.

I hope he had a fabulous masturbation session, thinking of me while he got off. I was certainly thinking of him. And about next time…

Last night I went to the hard hat opening for SEAF 2014. I’m super excited for the festival this year! There are several pieces that really caught my eye and I think it’s going to shape up to be one hellava amazingly sexy party. You should totally attend today, Saturday, or Sunday for brunch!

This is my 4th year involved as an visual and/or literary artist and I really feel like I’m coming into my own this year. (You can read about previous years here: 2011 and 2011, 2013) I let Harold talk me into submitting a large format image. There is something about having my work on 36″ by 54″ canvas that makes me feel like a serious artist rather than a lucky amateur. I couldn’t breathe when I took it out of the box. I am learning to take up space and it feels good.

Waves (Evoë Thorne)

I am also proud of Joel for getting an image selected for the festival! And bravo to Harold for modeling in all three images. Not many people start their porn careers in their 60’s. Even our friend, David Steinberg, is selling a print of Harold and me in the festival store. I believe that all of these images were originally published on this site, but you’ll need to attend SEAF to get the full effect!

For the literary portion, I had two poems selected this year. One is my found poem, UR so SXY, and the other is the sestina my teen dared me to write:

Bad Habits

I need a cup of coffee almost as bad as I need you.
Bitter and dark or sweet as honey,
I miss the taste of you on my lips.
I want the rush of you in my body,
But with you gone, I have to settle for another cup,
And you’re not here to know.

Death from above (Joel Thorne)

If I stayed up all night, would you know?
I roam around the house thinking of you,
Fingers dancing round the edges of my cup
Remembering orgasms golden like honey,
And the comforting weight of your body.
Up late and alone, I touch my empty lips.

I pour whisky and bring it to my lips.
You don’t like it when I drink, I know,
But I need you like this burning in my body.
I’m all afire, desiring you.
You go down smoother than whisky, Honey,
And I’d rather have you in my cup.

Restlessly, I put down my cup,
Words to that song you hate on my lips.
Well I’m playing it loud now, Honey!
I can dance better than you know.
I would grind like this for you,
Bouncing, gyrating, and sweating on your body.

Why aren’t you here to satisfy my body?!
I hate being discarded like an empty paper cup.
I gave so much of my life to you.
My fingers find the pearl between my lips,
There are some things I still know.
One, is where to find honey.

And ohmygod the honey!
Pleasure ripples in waves through my body
Revealing mysteries I’m momentarily allowed to know
I pour coffee and whisky into the same cup
And bring a fucking cigarette to my lips
For a moment, I don’t even think of you

It’s so easy to take something for granted. Like the tip of your tongue. I never fully appreciated how awesome my tongue is until a few weeks ago, when I had some dental work done and the tip of my tongue never stopped being numb. It’s just the end on the left side, but I’m going crazy.

I guess this happens sometimes – some damage to the lingual nerve occurs accidentally during the numbing shots for routine fillings. I’m harder to get numb than most people, maybe my nerves run differently, I don’t know. It is supposed to get better as the damaged part regenerates. Nerves are slow to heal. I am not patient. I want my tongue back.

It feels weird and tingly all the time, sort of similar to when I’ve scalded my tongue on something that’s too hot. Only it’s been going on for nearly a month, leaving me hyper-aware of the tip of my tongue all of the time. This problem with my tongue is affecting me in several important areas: speaking, eating, and kissing.

I find it hard to talk. It feels so strange. I don’t think anyone notices but I feel self-conscious, like I am speaking with a mouth full of cotton balls. I keep scraping my tongue on my teeth or biting my cheek. Articulation is frustrating. Since expressing myself is pretty important, feeling speech-impaired is getting to me.

I normally enjoy eating rather immensely. Food is a sensual pleasure. Now, not only is it physically more challenging to eat on that side of my mouth, my taste buds are also affected. SO sad!

Kissing is by far my most keenly felt loss. How can I explore my lover’s body with my mouth if I can’t feel anything with my tongue? How can I flick the tip of my tongue across sensitive areas? How can we make out, our tongues darting in and out of each other’s mouths, if my tongue feels dead?

I’m whinging. All in all, things are not so bad. Numb tongue is a minor discomfort. It could be so much worse. People don’t even notice that there’s a problem, I bet. The damage to my tongue is unlikely to be permanent. I just have to wait. And take my vitamins. And try not to accidentally bite my tongue, lip, or cheeks.

A few days ago Harold (my partner in life, love, and hare-brained scheming) turned 65. He’s not much for celebrating, but we wanted to do something special. Of course we wanted to make love, but what else? We couldn’t think of just the right thing until the day before. I don’t remember now, how tattoos came up. Initially it was sort of a dare or a jest, then we started talking about tattoos as a form of submission to each other – how cool it would be to channel the energy of pain and excitement into sexual energy.

What if I gave my pain to him while I was being marked by his symbol? What if he actually brought me to orgasm while I was being tattooed? We were intrigued by the possibilities, but neither of us was sure there was a permanent mark we were willing to take on. We had feverish conversations throughout the eve of his birthday. Optimistically I made us an appointment.

The next morning we got together early. I wanted to shower and spend some time connecting, so I started up some Janis Joplin and both of us squeezed into a shower clearly made for one. I adore hot water and slick soapy skin. Things were starting to heat up.

With his cock hard in my hand, I asked Harold what he wanted sexually. Like normal, he temporized, telling me to just go with what I felt was right. I’ve been pushing him more to think about and vocalize the things he desires, so I didn’t let him off the hook.

He began to talk about me punishing him somehow. I was in an excited sexy place, so it took me a few minutes to realize that the energy had changed between us. It stopped feeling sexy. I immediately centered myself and opened up to Harold. I sat him down on the toilet seat and straddled him, wrapping my arms around him. I could feel some pain from his childhood there – something that I had triggered when we fought last week. We talked through it until it felt okay for us both. We do this kind of thing a lot and it makes for much better sex.

We walked down to the cabin in the glorious morning sunshine, wearing only shoes and coats. The chill air on my thighs and the thrill of being naked outdoors started to make me wet. There was already a fire going in the cabin. We proceeded to have some of the hottest sex we’ve had in a long time. He went down on me until I came. I strung him up in cuffs and did wicked things to his nipples and balls. I pushed him more than I ever have before and we both reached new heights.

When neither of us could wait another second, I bent over in front of him and let him fuck me from behind, his arms still suspended above his head. This is one of my favorite positions. I bent over the bed, where I had all of my tools spread out. He pounded into me. I rocked forward with each thrust, my breath coming out in harsh gasps, escalating to full throated moans, followed shortly by Harold’s ecstatic bellows.

Evidently my head was bumping my phone in the final throes of Harold’s birthday sex and Siri heard our vocalizations. Her voice surprised us, “I do not understand ‘who, who, who, who.’ I could search the Internet for you.” I laughed hysterically when I figured out what was going on.

From there we drove to to get tattoos, anticipation and anxiety sharing equal space. We knew what we wanted but we weren’t sure where. We talked through the positives and negatives of every possible location. Eventually we went with what felt right for each of us.

Harold went first. You have to understand that he’s never wanted a tattoo before. The fact that he celebrated turning 65 by getting his first tattoo is very inspirational to me. I think he enjoyed the process. He got spacey in a charming way, holding my hand. Afterwards, he was proud and blissed out. I love him so much.

This was not my first dance, but I was shocked by how intense the pain was in the tender flesh of my upper stomach. It got better over time, but initially there was no way that I could have sexualized that sensation. I’m just not a masochist. What I did do, over and over, was send the energy to Harold, giving him my pain, taking his mark. He held my hand and touched my face.

After, we were so high on endorphins. I felt amazing. We had so much fun.

We went home to my darling husband, who had prepared an incredible and gorgeous conch and squid ceviche just for Harold. Joel had even managed to find Harold’s favorite alcoholic beverage, Punt è Mes, which is rare in these parts. (Have I mentioned that sometimes it is unbelievably awesome to have two partners who care about each other?) The children had all made birthday cards and gotten him flowers. More glowy happiness!

Harold spent some time talking with his wife and I put the kids to bed. We fell into each other’s arms and the softness of bed. Tired happiness gave way to gentle kisses. deep probing kisses became grinding gyrations. Without any thought we were making love again. Happy birthday Baby and many more…